They come for me
their sharp little incisors of hate
waiting at the gate of time
as rabid newts
swimming in the sea of fear
grey limpit suckers
attached to feet
clinging to rocks
as the waves wash over
as tidal currents pull me into segments of loss
loss
that dies on the breath of dawn
loss that wheres a hat
that has no name
winding down the sun
from its window
breaking up light
with a hammer of spite
go forth into the dream
with a torch in thy hand
let the beacon be lit
for rain to wash away the sorrow
i weep
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